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Hayden's already on his way to the door when a resonant knocking comes, steady and loud. When he opens the door a second later, the officer has already taken his hat off, revealing a vaguely familiar face.
"Good evening, Mr. Christensen. I hope you're well?"
Hayden feels slightly uneasy, but affirms that he is.
"I just saw there was a vehicle at the edge of your property. I was called out to investigate before it was towed to make sure it wasn't one of yours?"
Hayden has more vehicles than the average person, it's true, but he doesn't have some vast garage like a Canadian Jay Leno. His barn has farm equipment in it, not an additional fleet of bikes that no one in town has ever seen.
"A friend's," Hayden says at last. "He ran out of gas a ways out and pushed it to the bottom of the hill. It's fine."
The officer hesitates.
Hayden knows where this is going.
The bike is heavy and, once the two of them get it up the hill, Hayden parks it just out front. The officer turns his car around in the driveway and leaves with only a farewell wave. Hayden uses the opportunity to take the bag out of the bike’s trunk box.
He's no expert, but he thinks the trip is long enough to warrant more than Ewan has packed.
Back inside, Ewan is still sleeping on the couch where Hayden left him. After Ewan passed out earlier, Hayden went to the kitchen to reply to some emails without removing himself too far. It was tedious but distracting work, keeping him from turning over questions he doesn't have answers to. The kitchen window let him see the police car pull up.
Ewan apparently heard none of it.
He's still lying sprawled out on the sofa where Hayden left him, one arm folded under his head, legs akimbo. The furrow of his brow is almost completely gone, but he's no longer smiling either. He just looks tired; the only sign he's been driving for days going on weeks.
Hayden can't help but wonder why Ewan is here. He knows why on the outside: they're trying to rekindle something that faded away. But he thinks about the things Ewan told him over dinner in Berlin, about the stress and desperation of work balanced with family.
Hayden knows a little what that's like. Smaller immediate family, less acting work, but he gets it. He likes the quieter life he's built for himself; it's big enough, he thinks. But, man… the stress. He gets it.
He thinks that, despite the length of time they've known one another, there were people who must have been closer — physically, emotionally — that Ewan could have gone to. Somehow he decided to drive down his driveway, began heading east… and just kept going. It seems improbable, yet here he is. Hayden feels like he understands. Besides that dinner, there seems to be something here in the space between them. No, he knows there is.
Hayden sits down on the coffee table, leans forward and brushes the hair back from Ewan's face. He tries to recall the feeling of Ewan's head in his lap, stroking grown-out hair, feeling settled yet empty.
It's different though, it feels more intentional and less like a passing moment of comfort. No negotiation then, but less conscious thought as well. That had been the point.
Slowly, Ewan's eyes flicker open, and when he speaks he sounds rough — though he can't have slept more than thirty minutes.
"What're you doing?"
Hayden withdraws slowly, rubs his hands on his jeans. He doesn't want to answer because he doesn't know what to say; no idea what he was doing nor how to cover it up.
"Checking on you," Hayden decides.
"Mm…" The acknowledgment becomes a drawn out groan as Ewan rubs his face, curling up a little and turning away from Hayden.
"I can set you up in the guest room unless you have a place to stay," Hayden continues. "I didn't find much stuff in your bike."
Hayden turns to look at the bag he put near the entryway. Ewan glances at it and then shakes his head.
"That's all I've got." He says it like a confession.
Hayden isn't judging. He's thinking about the shirts hanging on the clothesline and the weather forecast.
"Do you wanna stay?" Hayden asks, putting a little more force behind the question.
"Yeah," Ewan says, "as long as I'm not putting you out."
"You're not."
"Then I'd like that."
~
It's an honest mistake. Perhaps foolishly so.
Ewan is looking for towels when he stumbles upon the boxes. He knows they're not what he needs even before he lifts the first lid, spying yellowing paper, stuffed envelopes, and discolored ink scrawled in a dozen different hands.
That's just what he can see at first glance.
He smiles, replacing the lid, and moves the box aside. Beneath it is another one filled to the brim. Different hands, peeling flower stickers, glittery gel pen, a photo of someone's dog — on the back of that one says, "Bella wants to give you a kiss."
There's two more boxes, but it doesn't feel like all of it. Ewan puts them back in place and steps out of the closet. Glancing around the two-storey library, he wonders if there's an attic or basement or even a storage unit with more.
Or maybe Hayden didn't keep it all. Lord knows Ewan had to cull some of it over the years. He used to keep the naughty ones for a laugh, but they don't make him smile the way they used to.
"Can I help you?" Hayden asks from the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee.
"Looking for towels…" Ewan trails off.
"You found my stash," Hayden says looking at the open closet without any embarrassment. "I'm sure you've got your own somewhere."
"I'm afraid to say I'm not sure where the most of mine is…"
"Towels are in the linen closet."
"It's nice," Ewan says quickly, as though needing to make sure Hayden doesn't think he's judging him. "I remember when you had bags of fanmail in your trailer."
"Mail bags," Hayden says, laughing, handing Ewan a cup of coffee. "I suppose it's all digital now, isn't it? Though I do occasionally still get a bundle of letters…"
"Sometimes I miss it, it feels simpler. More thoughtful and it lasts longer."
"Yeah," Hayden says, gaze growing more distant as he sips his coffee. "They're not all full of fanmail, just so you don't think I need that much on hand. I just like to look at them occasionally so I swap boxes from storage now and then." He clears his throat.
"Oh?" Ewan asks, feeling as though he's being baited. "What's in the other boxes?"
"Well," Hayden says shrugging, "you know how my mom and sister write? I occasionally do too. Some stories."
Ewan raises his eyebrows. "No, I did not know that."
"Yeah, well." Hayden turns away from the office and leads him back down the hall, pulling out towels from a closet for Ewan before vanishing.
It puzzles him all through his shower and breakfast, but he can't bring himself to ask. He tries to imagine what kind of stories Hayden would write.
Maybe someday they'll be the kind of friends again who want to share those things with one another.
~
The next time Ewan is in Hayden's office, he is blatantly snooping.
He told himself he needed a pen, but he doesn't really. He's not going to send the postcard but hand deliver it the next time he sees his daughter and, truthfully, he's not really the postcard type. But while he was in the drugstore downtown with Hayden, he couldn't help but pick up the quaint little card, proclaiming in cursive, 'Wish you were here!'
If he'd just needed a pen, he could have gotten one from the kitchen counter; he wouldn't have needed to bypass the nice weighted fountain pen in a tray on top of Hayden's desk or pull open the drawers.
He finds pens, plenty of them, as well as all the sundry office supplies a person who writes fiction might need. Nothing tells him what he wants to know, but then finally, he pulls open one more drawer and finds a curling stack of paper.
Centered on the page, in all caps, is the title, MIDNIGHT MOURNING, followed with a by line. The date on it states it was printed three years ago, and when he briefly flicks through the pages, he sees numerous notes in pencil, marks in red, and the paper feels soft.
He lets the pages fall shut and hesitates before dropping the stack back into the drawer. It isn't his business. He'll ask, but he shouldn't read it without permission, no matter how much he wants to.
His hand hovers over the fountain pen for a moment. He picks it up. It's heavier than he expected, but it feels comfortable in his hand. He wonders if Hayden writes longhand with it before typing his stories up. He puts the pen back and shuts the door behind him when he leaves.
"Did you need something?" Hayden asks when Ewan wanders back into the kitchen with the postcard. He's chopping onions and only glances up for a second before lowering his gaze back to the knife.
"Just a pen— Aha."
Hayden's glances to the cup of pens by the phone in the corner.
"Been a few days," Ewan says self-effacingly, "you think I'd know by now."
Hayden just shrugs.
"It's so quiet here," Ewan continues, rather than just taking his postcard back to his room to write it. "I don't just mean the distance from people, from town. I mean, this house."
Hayden doesn't reply, he sweeps the chopped onions into a metal bowl and then wipes the cutting board and knife before turning to Ewan.
"Well, I mean, you're here," Hayden says, as though that's enough. He reaches into a bowl on the counter and touches a few of the tomatoes before picking one up and giving it a quick rinse.
So Ewan doesn't leave, he puts the card and pen down on the counter and sits on the barstool, listening to the quiet music on the speakers, the tap of the knife as Hayden cuts the tomato.
"I'm just surprised you don't have friends stopping by, or people to go see," Ewan says at last.
"Don't worry," Hayden says, smiling that secretive way, "you're not cramping my style."
"Heaven forbid," Ewan replies.
Hayden sprinkles salt and lime into the bowl and then finally cuts the avocado.
"I'm also surprised," Hayden says after he mashes the avocado, shaking off the cilantro where it had been drying next to the sink.
"About what?" Ewan asks, wondering if Hayden had heard him poking around the office.
"Why'd you come so far to find a shoulder to lean on? Not that I mind it at all, I'm just curious."
He is silent while he stirs the guacamole, focusing entirely on the task while Ewan feels an odd sort of lightness in his limbs. He feels as though he's been caught.
"You're just the person I wanted to lean on," Ewan says quietly, "isn't that alright?"
Hayden looks at him, raising his eyebrows and not smiling exactly, not calling Ewan out, but somehow looking through him. What he sees, Ewan has no idea.
"You were the one who happened to find me that night," Ewan says.
"In my hotel room," Hayden says. He opens two bottles of malted elderberry soda, and passes one to Ewan.
"Our hotel room," Ewan says, tapping his bottle with Hayden's. "Cheers."
For several moments, they devour the guacamole in big mouthfuls via tortilla chips. For a second, Ewan thinks this is the end of the conversation.
"Whenever you're ready," Hayden says, "if you want to, you can talk to me."
He looks up at Ewan from beneath a tilted brow.
"You always were a good listener," Ewan says, not able to say much else.
Hayden hums and that's that.
~
Ever since Hayden took Ewan on a walk around the property, he's been thinking about those apple trees. He's been apple picking in New York, of course, but that's been ages now.
It's been weeks since he drove away from home. Hayden doesn't pressure him for answers, doesn't even ask how long he's intending to stay, but it weighs on Ewan. Even though being here is a relief which outpaces everything else. There's something so peaceful about spending his days walking the land, running occasional errands in town, helping Hayden around the farm. It isn't something he's ever done much of. He goes to sleep dreaming of apples and sheep.
Hayden puts out apple butter for fresh buns in the mornings but Ewan tries to go easy on it; he doesn't know how much there is in the pantry. Hayden also mentioned 'winter apples' for baking, but Ewan is dreaming of that first crisp bite in the fall, which is months away yet. The weather is still clinging to cool spring ways.
Until one day, at last, he smells apple pie. When he looks up from the script he's been reading, spread out on the guest bed, he notices that the sun has moved farther than he expected. He's making notes to send back to his agent, but this isn't time sensitive so much as an excuse to keep him out of Hayden's hair.
But a smell like that is a siren's call. He stacks all his things in a pile and leaves them on the bed, padding down the stairs to the kitchen. He meets Hayden in front of the oven.
"I was wondering when that would reach you," Hayden says affectionately.
"Just caught up in reading," Ewan says, stepping back as Hayden opens the door and pulls the pie out.
It's steaming, crust a beautiful golden color, bubbles of cinnamon and sugar bursting from the holes cut in the top. Hayden tilts the pie just slightly, as though presenting it to Ewan, and looks at him with a small smile.
"What's the occasion?" Ewan asks.
"Joel and his wife are coming over later," Hayden says, putting the pie on the kitchen's wide window ledge.
Ewan knows Joel from the time he came over to help Hayden fix one of the machines. For as much as Ewan knows the ins and outs of his own bikes, he doesn't know much about farm equipment.
"Just a visit with friends?" Ewan asks.
It's not that he feels as though he needs to tread softly on the subject, but the lack of people has struck Ewan as odd. The house is big, meant to be filled with a large family, lots of friends; he wants to call it lonely, to see Hayden out here with no one but an occasional farmhand or two, but Hayden doesn't seem lonesome. He seems solitary, but it also seems to suit him.
"Joel's wife is the local sheep shearer. She trims horns and hooves as needed too. That's how I met Joel. They'll be coming by in a bit to shear them before it gets much hotter."
"Does it get much hotter?"
Hayden shrugs. "A bit. Not as dry as California though." And he grins at Ewan in a way that makes it clear he sees something which Ewan would like to ignore.
The pie cools down, but the scent lingers. The truck which pulls up with Joel and his wife, Eileen, is quickly emptied in the barnyard and Ewan helps bag up each fleece as it comes off the sheep. There aren't many to shear; a couple hours and it's all done. Joel and his wife decline the offer of dinner, Ewan briefly wonders if it's because of him, and the pie is handed over as well as payment for the service itself.
Hayden is bashful and humble about the pie, even while Joel is practically effervescent and Eileen chortles, bothering Ewan a bit because he won't be able to try it.
"I thought you only had a few apples left?" Ewan asks after they've brought the sheep into the barn and cleaned up for dinner. He's standing side-by-side with Hayden in the kitchen again.
"Most farmers keep sides of lamb in their chest freezers," Hayden says, "but mine's full of produce. I chop up the apples, sometimes I mix 'em up with sugar and cinnamon, and then when I need a quick pie…" He makes a ta-da gesture.
"I don't suppose…" Ewan trails off, focusing on chopping the onion with a very sharp knife for the moment.
"Sometimes a whole pie is a bit much for just one person," Hayden says in the pause, and when Ewan glances over he sees a fond smile on his face, "and I'll admit I do like the taste of my own apples."
Ewan doesn't reply. He puts the chopped onions in a bowl and then turns to watch Hayden go into his fridge and pull out a baking sheet. Laid out on it are what look like hand pies.
"Are those—?"
"Apple pies for my favorite American friend who doesn't stop asking about them," Hayden says with a wink.
Ewan scoffs.
"I have a couple in the freezer," Hayden continues, "but there's usually scraps when I put together a pie fresh, so we can have these for dessert."
He puts the tray back in the fridge and comes to stand beside Ewan again.
"I'm not American," Ewan says at last, quietly and only mock offended.
"Didn't you get citizenship a couple years ago?"
Ewan scoffs again.
Dinner is delicious, as Ewan has come to expect it always is at Hayden's. The smell of baking apples distracts them while they clean their plates and then they're sitting on the couch with ice cream and steaming pies.
The sky is turning dark purple and even though he knows he has to, Ewan is wondering how he'll ever bring himself to leave.
~
Ewan walks quickly through the tall grass, up to where the small crowd of sheep are watching what Hayden is doing.
"Ladies," Ewan says, mostly to himself, as he nudges between them.
He holds out the wire cutters to Hayden for a moment before thinking better of it and maneuvering to go through the fence itself. Hayden looks up at that, briefly.
"Careful," he says, "don't rip your clothes."
Ewan doesn't care, but he's careful anyway, aware that it's an unnecessary point of friction when Hayden is already stressed.
He's now at the ewe's head, gently easing her face back a bit where she's straining.
"Just talk to her," Hayden says. "Her name is Dolly."
Normally, Hayden would be at the sheep's head, stroking her chin and soothing her, but at the moment he's focused on getting her out of the barbed wire without getting more cuts on her. Meanwhile Ewan speaks to Dolly, tells her she's a good girl and all sorts of inane things.
Looking over her twitching ears, Ewan can see sweat beading on Hayden's brow despite the chill in the evening air.
Ewan was just out with Hayden getting the sheep into the barn for the night when they found one of them caught in the fence. Hayden sent Ewan back for the wire cutters before settling in to make sure the ewe didn't hurt herself further.
"Alright," Hayden says and huffs out a breath. "Under her left foreleg, can you cut that?"
Slowly, Ewan eases the skin away and slips the pliers in close, cutting the ewe free. Feeling the release, the ewe tries to rush forward, but the two men push her back into the pasture. Hayden takes most of her weight in his arms, Ewan lifts one leg and then the other through the fence.
Hayden breathes a huge sigh of relief and turns toward the rest of the herd, who all come forward to sniff and inspect their wayfaring sister.
Ewan catches his breath a moment before deciding to climb through the fence again, carefully easing back the wires that he cut to make his life easier. Instead, he missteps, stumbling in a gouge the sheep dug while trying to get free. Luckily Hayden's there and notices, catching him before he snags clothing on the wire and gets torn up himself.
Hayden's arm is firm around his waist, his shoulder steady beneath Ewan's grasp. It's only a moment but then he's on his own feet again. He can't help it, laughter burbles out of him like he's drunk.
Hayden looks at him with bewilderment.
"I'm alright," Ewan says at last, since Hayden seems concerned.
"Alright," he replies. "I'll come back out here early to take care of the fence before I let 'em out."
He pats Ewan's back once as he moves toward the sheep, shooing them toward the gate. Ewan soon comes behind, sweeping up the stragglers.
~
It takes Ewan several hours to spit out what he's been chewing on. Enough time for Hayden to go out with the farmhand and set up the new fence post where he should have put one years ago and to smear the cuts on Dolly's skin to keep them from getting infected.
Ewan is quiet through lunch prep, which doesn't much phase Hayden; he's found both the storyteller and the stoic to be good company. It gives him time to turn over his own thoughts.
He hasn't asked for specifics of why Ewan is here because he more or less knows: marriage trouble or its ilk. He doesn't go for gossip but things come across his screen nonetheless, no matter how much he ignores them.
"Listen, I... " Ewan begins before trailing off almost immediately.
So Hayden listens, to the silence mostly, but at the same time he watches: the slack set of Ewan's jaw, the furrow between his brows, his distant gaze, the beard overdue for a trim.
"I'm really grateful for your hospitality," Ewan continues.
"Of course," Hayden says immediately. "You're always welcome."
"And you haven't asked," Ewan says slowly, "but I suppose you're probably wondering..."
"I mean," Hayden shifts, sweeping his gaze across the yard, to a distant grove of trees and back. "I know."
Ewan doesn't reply, doesn't turn to look at him, just continues scowling.
"You told me some of it in Berlin. I expect this is related?" Hayden turns it into a question at the last second.
"My partner…" Ewan says, as though gearing himself up for it, and then he stops again.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hayden asks.
"What's there to say?" Ewan asks in exasperation.
But then he speaks for hours.
By the end of it, they’ve finished the chores, cleaned up after dinner, and are back on the porch, back with that malted fruit soda instead of beer. Hayden isn't a teetotaller, but he doesn't mind it.
"Our publicists did a damn sight better negotiating our separation than we did." Ewan picks at the label on his bottle. "I'm ashamed to say there was a fair bit of yelling, most of it mine."
He falls back in his chair with a sigh, seeming depleted.
"That's what they called irreconcilable differences. Two times now." Ewan grimaces. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
"You're not," Hayden says gently. "Irreconcilable... it's the right word. Sometimes you're in a good relationship, with a good person, but there's just that thing you can't get over. Or several."
Hayden smirks, laughing to himself.
"Speaking from experience?" Ewan asks gently.
When Hayden looks up, Ewan is looking at him with affection, but it's a deeply sympathetic look as well. Hayden thinks he sees tears shining in Ewan's eyes.
"When it happens more than once..." Hayden trails off and Ewan lets him keep the silence a moment.
Out in the grass, the evening insects are louder than they've been all day.
"I don't think there's anyone who got me the way Rachel does. And… I flatter myself thinking that I'm good enough to deserve her. I'd do almost anything for her."
He catches himself before he gets lost gathering wool.
"Anyway. Even though I'm pretty sure she's my person, I'm not sure I'm hers. When we're good, we're so good, but it's not enough." He shrugs. "Sometimes that's not enough."
"Do you ever think you should try harder?"
"We do." Hayden snorts. "We did."
"Ah, I'm sorry," Ewan says quietly. "I didn't mean to dredge up your own feelings about separation."
Hayden snorts. "No worries. I spend a lot of time thinking about her, about us…" He hesitates a moment, knowing he's alluded to it but not yet explained… "I'm even writing a book about it."
"About you and Rachel?" Ewan asks, brow furrowing as he looks at Hayden.
"Well, a guy named Mac and his ex-fiancée, Evelyn."
"Do they have a daughter?" Ewan asks, smirking, but it's a playful look.
"Yeah, her name is Marie, and she spends the summers with her dad when she's not at school."
"And are they both actors?" Ewan asks.
"No, actually, bit of a Notting Hill situation, Evelyn is a stage actress who came out to do regional theater when she was young, fell in love, but Mac couldn't hack it in the city."
"The city is boring," Ewan says, his expression darkening. "I don't blame him for leaving."
"He goes back occasionally," Hayden says, shrugging. "There's balance, I guess. Ah, well… I don't know if I'll ever send it out. Or if anyone would even publish it."
"I'd like to read it," Ewan says, a bit adamantly.
Hayden is surprised, but as the shock settles over him, he realizes he shouldn't be. He remembers how quiet Ewan had gotten when he'd found out about Hayden's short stories — also unpublished — in a way that didn't seem like disapproval. Ewan's always been curious, not just about Hayden, so it should feel normal to have that polite interest turned upon him.
It does not feel normal. He thinks of Ewan holding him when he'd been a scared boy away from home and then of holding Ewan when he'd been a wreck in Berlin. He thinks of stroking Ewan's hair back from his face when he'd fallen asleep on the couch and it feels… not normal.
"Okay," Hayden says.
~
It's almost three o'clock, which is to say Ewan has only been asleep for an hour or so. He wakes slowly, resisting. Above him he can hear floorboards creaking and at first he doesn't think much of it, brushing off thoughts of Hayden being up at this hour, until he realizes… Hayden's office is on the ground floor, the bedrooms are on this floor, above him lies the unknown.
Dim light is shining up from the ground floor when Ewan finally decides to go investigate. He can hear boxes being pushed around as he walks to the end of the hallway.
Hayden looks up as soon as Ewan steps into the attic and smiles ruefully.
"Don't tell me I woke you," he says in a low, apologetic voice.
"You did," Ewan says, "but I could have told you to fuck off. I'm much more curious what you're doing up here at three in the morning."
"Sorry," Hayden says, letting the box lid flop shut. "I was just doing some stuff in my office and I had this thought…" He bites his lip, looks down, and somehow Ewan knows exactly what he isn't saying.
"You were writing?" he asks.
"Rereading, truth be told." Hayden laughs softly, still not meeting Ewan's eye. "And there's something I referenced in the book which I actually have so I wanted to find it again."
"A CD?" Ewan asks, recognizing the album art after a moment. "Isn't that—?"
"Led Zeppelin Four?" Hayden says, passing Ewan the CD and packing the others back into the box. "Yeah, you gave it to me."
And for a moment Ewan is transported to the emotional climax of a conversation about music where he'd decided it was imperative he introduce his new co-star to one of the best rock albums ever made.
This moment feels like a mirror of that one, except Hayden is the one handing him the CD and his expression is nothing like the wide grin Ewan must have been wearing back then. He can't say what it is about it, only that there's some sort of expectation in Hayden's gaze.
Sure enough, when Ewan flips the case open, written in his scrawl, it says 'For your edification, my very young apprentice.'
Ewan barks out a laugh as he flips the case closed again and turns it over to remind himself of the tracklist. "That's not a line from the movie is it?"
Hayden shrugs and pushes the box away from him. But when Ewan goes to hand the CD over, Hayden doesn't put it back. Instead, he stands up and when he meets Ewan's eye at last, he just asks, "Want some tea?"
And Ewan knows by now that Hayden doesn't mean a proper brew, but something with freshly picked mint, valerian, or lavender, so he says, "Yes."
Hayden is still in his day-clothes, meanwhile Ewan is wearing more of what he's been borrowing from Hayden for the last week: plaid sleep bottoms, an old shirt. He's a little cold, standing in slippers in the open kitchen, but the tea warms him up and he asks, "What were you reading?"
"Oh, just the manuscript," Hayden replies with practiced casualness. "Since you were asking about it, I was looking at it. I have this horrible habit of rereading it every time I pull it out."
"That's good, isn't it? Means it's worth reading."
"Yeah, except I worry I'm torturing myself." He's staring at his mug resolutely. "I tried not to make it about… my ex, but there's still things that feel inexorably connected to her. I was trying to work through my feelings about mourning a relationship… Not mourning our relationship. Does that make sense?"
When he looks up, his gaze is sharp, belying the soft smile and laugh lines. He looks at Ewan like it matters entirely too much what Ewan says. Ewan's opinion shouldn't matter in this. But the CD still lies on the counter.
"Yes," Ewan says quietly, too quietly; he clears his throat and takes a sip of his tea. It's sweet and fresh.
"So if you decide you don't want to read it, or if you start and can't finish it, no hard feelings. You can just put it back on my desk and I won't mind."
Ewan tries to reply lightly, tries to make it sound like it isn't a big deal. "But I do want to read it," he says.
"Okay," Hayden says, nodding, "okay," and he goes back to his office as though this is the middle of the afternoon and not the middle of the night, leaving Ewan alone in the kitchen.
It takes a long moment, perhaps longer than it should, and then Hayden is passing Ewan the dog-eared and pen-marked copy of the manuscript he's seen while snooping in Hayden's desk. It's hole-punched and bound so that it doesn't fall apart. It's thick, several hundred pages. But Ewan says goodnight and takes it upstairs.
He doesn't fall asleep until the sun is gracing the horizon with a thick orange tongue.
~
Hayden doesn't sleep well, but when the farmhand arrives just before dawn, he goes out and does work anyway. He comes back after breakfast and finds that Ewan still isn't up yet. He's used to making eggs and bacon for them both, but the yolks would have gotten gross and congealed if he'd left some for him.
Thinking about eggs however, he soft-boils some and makes noodles, pouring some beef broth over them, cutting fresh carrots, shallots and cabbage into the mix, and then placing it all into a thermal container. He puts a sticky note on it, writing Ewan's name and pausing before leaving it in the middle of the kitchen counter.
He makes sandwiches for himself and the farmhand, using leftover chicken from the grill, fresh lettuce and tomatoes.
When he comes back inside, the soup is gone and the manuscript is in its place. Ewan has scrawled "Loved it!" on the sticky note beneath his own name.
~
When Ewan wakes again, he can hear the water running in the master bathroom. It isn't loud and he'd still be asleep if he hadn't been up all night and then on a very long call with his agent.
He dozes for another moment, then hears the tell-tale sounds from the kitchen that mean Hayden is cooking. He hurries to shower off the gunk from sleeping all day and help with dinner preparation. It isn't because he minds Hayden's cooking — he's been spoiled by it for over a week now and he'd enjoy playing sous-chef for Hayden a while longer — but because he wants to repay the kindness somehow. He imagines Hayden coming to visit Ewan in California, staying for a week (or more) but all he conjures instead is Hayden's new place in Altadena which he's mostly only seen in pictures.
When he gets downstairs, he finds Hayden standing by the counter, cleaning up pots while two dishes of food sit cooling on the counter. He's wearing fresh clothes and his hair is still wet, curling into his collar, so that scent of lanolin and hay is gone. Ewan hadn't even realized he'd been expecting it. In the background, he can hear Stairway to Heaven.
"Sorry, I'm not too late am I?" Ewan asks.
"Oh!" Hayden looks almost spooked as he turns around, his face slightly pink. "Wasn't sure if you'd emerge in time."
"You've cooked twice for me today, I don't think it's fair of me to not say a proper thanks."
"You haven't actually said thank you yet," Hayden points out with a smirk.
"True," Ewan says, sticking his hands in his pockets and nodding. "Thank you. Lunch was delicious."
"This will be too," Hayden says, gesturing to the plates. "Pick a seat, I'll join you when I'm done here."
"Why don't you let me do that," Ewan says, crowding close. "You've already cooked, least I can do."
Hayden shakes his head but doesn't argue, bringing the plates to the dining room table. When Ewan joins him, Hayden puts his phone away, apparently having waited for Ewan; the food is almost too cool but with two hungry men it disappears quickly. Ewan mops up the rest of the sauce with some bread and something about it makes Hayden smile to see, even though he himself was just doing the same.
"So," Ewan says, "I read it. I loved it."
"Thank you," Hayden says, bowing his head.
"Did you want to ask me anything specific about it?"
"I guess…" He lays his silverware carefully across his plate. "Was there anything in particular that stuck out to you?"
"I love the way you've described the landscape," Ewan begins, "there's a sort of reverence that really is apparent."
"Yeah, that's this area," Hayden says, smiling somewhat shyly, only glancing up at Ewan again before he crosses his arms. His face is that light pink color again.
"And I really think you did capture something universal about grieving a relationship… And without villainizing the ex. She was…" Ewan laughed. "I think I would have gotten on with her; she rides a motorcycle and likes Led Zeppelin, she's a city girl after my own heart."
"That's not—" Hayden snaps his teeth together and his face darkens, his brow going stormy in that rare way. "I didn't mean anything by that. I was… I wanted her to not be like Rachel."
"I didn't mean anything," Ewan replies quickly, "it's just a passing parallel that amused me. She's not like Rachel, not too much, though I always got on with Rachel too."
"I have to admit," Hayden says after a drawn-out moment, "I was worrying as I was rereading last night that there was something… I don't know, some unintentional thing I was doing…"
Hayden's eyes flash up at Ewan before he continues: "I know we haven't been the closest over the last twenty years."
"There's many relationships you can mourn," Ewan says after another long moment, his way of agreeing. He continues to stare at the smears of sauce still on his plate, focuses on the low music in the background.
"I'm just worried it's confusing things for Mac, like for his story arc, I mean."
"I thought it was alright," Ewan says. "Though I did wonder…"
When Ewan looks up again, Hayden quickly drops his gaze back to his own plate, still slumped in his chair, still with his arms crossed. It feels protective and Ewan's heart is beating a little faster but he has been wondering — for days now. Maybe it isn't his place to ask, but…
"Why isn't Mac seeing anyone new?" Ewan asks.
Hayden does look up at Ewan again at that, parting his lips but not speaking.
"Or is he?" Ewan asks. "He doesn't mention anyone and he seems very alone, despite the scene you wrote where he goes to that workshop and how he relates to the local bar…"
"He's not," Hayden says as he reaches out to adjust the plate again. "You know, it's funny…"
All at once, Hayden seems to relax, his shoulders drop, he sits up and leans forward, and Ewan, who sits just around the corner at the table, can't help but echo the gesture, bringing them closer together.
"It used to bother me a lot what people said about me, that I was quiet and sensitive, that I didn't like to go out. Not because it wasn't true, but because they drew conclusions about me based on that. I thought, when I fell in love with Rachel, that it wasn't true, that I'm not—" He swallows hard. "That I'm straight, but it bothered me because I know those things aren't related. Being straight doesn't mean you like to go out to clubs, being not doesn't mean you like to stay in and read books."
Ewan sits very still, feeling as though he is watching a butterfly settle on a blade of grass, easily startled. He doesn't really think it's funny.
"It bothers me because if I ever said anything, there would be people who'd be so smug about it. And I don't really let them get to me, but it still gets to me, you know?"
When he looks up he's no longer pink, but there's a touch of red to his eye.
"I do," Ewan says quietly, because at some point he decided labels were for other people to better box you in and he doesn't give a shit what people think. It's a luxury though; he knows he isn't sensitive like Hayden, not exactly.
"Mac isn't seeing anyone because if I wrote about his desire, beyond how he still has echoes of desire for Evelyn, I'd have to put more things on the page about myself than I already have. And I don't want it to change what the book is about, I think it would be distracting. I don't think… I might still never publish it because it would have my name on the cover and it won't stop being about me and Rachel…"
He trails off.
"You can't help what other people think," Ewan says. "Closing yourself off from certain things because of how it might make others perceive you is no way to live."
"I know that," Hayden replies, sounding only slightly peeved. "I built my whole life here without a care for any of that."
"And yet," prompts Ewan.
"And yet," agrees Hayden.
"I know I probably seem like a hypocrite, telling you not to hide things, not to omit things from your story, when I came out here to hide."
Hayden smiles in that guileless way of his. "Did you now?" he asks without really asking.
"I don't think I ever told you how much I appreciate how steady you are."
"I think I got the idea," Hayden says, scrunching his nose a little as he grins.
"No, I mean. I think I forgot as well, after we saw less of one another. But after that press tour and that night in Berlin I just wasn't—" He chokes, not really wanting to repeat any of it aloud, hoping he can just… let it lie since Hayden already knows.
And Hayden does. He reaches across the narrow distance between them and grasps Ewan's wrist. He strokes his thumb across the sleeve of Ewan's shirt. When Ewan looks at him, Hayden gives a nod and a watery smile. Ewan is surprised when he brushes fingers across his own eyes and finds tears waiting.
"I'm glad I could come here, to you," Ewan says.
"Of course," Hayden replies emphatically, giving Ewan's wrist a squeeze. "I didn't know you thought I was steady, I felt like such a kid back then."
"Well, I mean, you needed to grow into it." Ewan feels heat where Hayden is still touching him. It spreads in tingling waves across his skin. He smiles. "It suits you."
~
When Hayden gets up the next morning, the guest bathroom is already occupied. After a late night talking, not just about Hayden's book but Ewan's various projects, Ewan said he needed to get some sleep if he wanted to be on the road early.
Hayden doesn't want to say he's used to their rhythm, as it's been barely two weeks, but he feels off balance with Ewan up already. Still he goes about his routine and when he makes it downstairs, Ewan is already there, frying eggs the way Hayden likes them, coffee freshly brewed.
"Morning," he says, smiling that same old smile which still manages to make Hayden blush in response; it warms him like sunshine.
"Hey," Hayden replies, voice rough from sleep. "All set?"
It's early morning gray outside. Normally Hayden would let the sheep out first, then wait for Ewan to come downstairs before making breakfast and then heading out to see what needed to be done while Ewan lingered over coffee and the news.
"Just one last thing," Ewan says in that tone of voice that hides trouble.
Hayden's stomach lurches because he knows better but he can't help himself. The last two weeks — last several months really — have made him reassess what he thought Ewan wanted. And what he thought Ewan could give.
"What's that?" Hayden asks while paused in the middle of his kitchen, not knowing where to stand.
"Cooking you breakfast!" Ewan says cheerily as he switches off the stove and plates their food.
Breakfast is quiet as it usually is, except for some final comments about traffic and weather. There's also something reluctant which Hayden can't name, but it's possible he's just projecting. He feels different and he's feeling as though a chance is slipping through his fingers.
All too soon, Ewan heads upstairs for a final pass, one last pit stop before the first leg of his long journey home.
He comes down looking much like he did when he arrived, but his beard is trimmed and he smells better. He looks better too: well-rested.
"So this is it," Hayden says at the door, hand gripping the side as though it needs to be held open.
"Don't make it sound so final," Ewan teases. "You'll see me again soon."
"How do you know?" retorts Hayden.
"’Cause you'll come visit," Ewan says with absolute certainty.
"Alright," Hayden acquiesces, as though he has a choice.
"I'll see you then," Ewan says, clasping Hayden by the arm and leaning in, then leaning closer until he's pressing his mouth to Hayden's. It's a brief kiss, almost perfunctory but for the way Ewan lingers for a hairsbreadth, almost long enough for Hayden to do more than purse his lips in reply. It lasts long enough for Ewan's lips to soften and for Hayden to remember with burning fire that he'd once wished he could feel this again just so he could put old questions to bed. And afterward, Ewan doesn't pull away as quickly as he should, he stays close and their eyes meet and it's almost a question, almost an invitation or a request, but this is the wrong time for that and they both know it.
So instead of something else happening, Ewan smiles, a bit lopsided, walks down the stairs, climbs onto his bike and before Hayden forgets he calls: "Drive safe!" And then the engine is roaring to life and Ewan puts on his helmet, waves, and drives off.
It was only a goodbye kiss, no more than Hayden's gotten before, but he still feels the imprint of Ewan's hand on his arm. It was only— but for the way he looked at Hayden after as though he didn't want to leave. Hayden wants to curse at the shadow Ewan's left behind. He said Hayden would visit and then all but assured he did.
Hayden watches the last glimpse of Ewan disappear down the road before he closes the door.